The RWBY Shard: What is it Worth?
by Jadetarem
Summary: Creation is a remnant of what it once was, a world on the brink of ruin - unless someone intervenes. Ozpin hatches a convoluted scheme that will fling a few small, honest souls into a maelstrom of monsters, conspiracies, and lies. With so much lost and scattered, it should be hopeless... but some bonds are stronger than life and death, and not every hero stands alone. [Exalted AU]


_Author Notes: I had some ideas for this a while back, but put it on the back burner to focus on_ We're Calling it a Success _. And I still do consider that story the top priority (next chapter coming very soon, I promise). Even so, I found time to write for this story whenever I wanted a break to work on something different._

 _As an alert, this is not a story where the cast of RWBY somehow magically finds themselves transported to Creation or vice versa. This is more or less an Exalted AU: the characters were born and raised here. They're still the same characters you know and love, but the world of Creation might have twisted them in unexpected ways. Think of it as an Exalted AU with enough borrowed to call it a crossover._

 _As a second alert, Exalted is based on the mythologies of several cultures, mixed with pulp adventure and kung fu movies, and then all of that is turned up to 11. As a result, characters might enter and exit relationships of all kinds for reasons ranging from tragic to mysterious to hilarious. There aren't enough shipping tags on this site to cover everything that might happen, especially since parts of this AU are still a blank slate. Similarly, I plan to use a lot of characters, which means that the character tags attached to the story aren't comprehensive. I've gotten nastygrams for leaving out these details before, so if that's going to bother you, you've been warned._

 _Now you might be thinking: "I like RWBY, but I don't have a clue about Exalted. Will I be able to follow along?" In which case, you're in luck! No one in Exalted has the full and complete picture of what's going on, and you should be able to pick up plenty from context and what the characters manage to puzzle out for themselves as they go. If all else fails, the Solar characters tend to be the most clueless and ignorant, and will get plenty of things explained to them as the story goes on._

 _If you like Exalted but don't know about RWBY, then you'll miss some references, but should still be able to read it like any other Exalted fic. Some of the names might be a little strange, but then, Creation is a strange and diverse world._

 _As a final note before starting, Exalted has mountains of lore associated with it, some of it contradictory. I'm probably not going to get every single detail exactly correct, and frankly, I don't care. If it gets in the way of the story, I'm liable to ignore it or change it. I am definitely not going to worry about rules minutia or whip up character sheets for everyone - if you can hear the dice rolling, I'm not doing a very good job as a writer._

 _RWBY is the property of Rooster Teeth and the brainchild of Monty Oum. Exalted was produced by White Wolf Publishing, but I believe Onyx Path Publishing currently owns it. In short, I don't own either of these products._

 _Enough pontificating! Let's see what kind of trouble these demigods can get into._

* * *

 **Tales from the RWBY Shard: What is it Worth?  
Prologue Part 1: Fortune Favors the Bold**

 _In which a decision is made._

* * *

Sharp footfalls echoed through the hallways of the temple, the ancient and hallowed sanctuary ringing with the impacts of heeled boots on the stone. There had been a time, once, when such noises would have been drowned out by the sounds of numerous acolytes and priests, all giving thanks and praise to Sol Invictus, the Unconquered Sun. There had been a time when their songs would have made the alabaster manse seem warm and inviting rather than forbidding. There had been a time when Glynda Goodwitch would never have made it through the front door. Not out of fear, but out of a sense of propriety.

Many centuries had passed since that time. The temple stood abandoned, the acolytes gone, the priests corrupted and killed, and the city around it was a secular trade hub now, not a religious mecca. All that remained were the footsteps… and the temple's one other occupant. Goodwitch paused and adjusted her glasses when she heard the song, possibly the first one to ring through the temple in ages. The song was sung haltingly and hauntingly, as though the singer couldn't quite catch her breath, but it had a certain bleak charm to it.

 _"Red like roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest…"_

Glynda turned sharply, following the sound – the song's performer was the only real thing of interest to her in this temple, and the excellent acoustics would make tracking her down a simple matter. Glynda's Charms and other abilities would make it even easier, but there were consequences for using that kind of Essence in a place like this. Even thousands of years after the beings that created and maintained it had fallen silent, the place still had power of its own. There were _rules_ that had to be followed in such sites, and those violating them did so at their own peril, no matter how strong and clever they believed themselves to be _._ Still, she was certain she could succeed admirably, and her task got even easier when she saw the trail of blood. There was a lot of it; a wide crimson smear marking where something had been dragged – or more likely, had dragged itself – to the central sanctum. Giving the stains a wide berth, Goodwitch continued her trek.

 _"…White is… cold and always yearning, burdened by the royal test…"_

The central sanctum was the crown jewel of an otherwise impressive structure. The enormous ceiling vaulted high into the air, a perfectly circular dome reflecting the glory of the Unconquered Sun. Every brick had been fired with a prayer, every dab of mortar consecrated, every fresco and sculpture made with the purest devotion. In a world where so much had been lost, this place still stood. By contrast to much of the rest of the temple, the sanctum was not done exclusively in pure whites and golds, though those colors still dominated. Even so, accents done tastefully and traditionally in every other color imaginable shot through the room and made the stark and regal iconography stand out even more by comparison.

 _"Black; the beast descends from shadows! Yellow beauty burns… Gold…"_

The room was built to seat hundreds, but as Goodwitch had suspected, there was only one 'parishioner' here today. The girl was shorter than she expected, and sleight of build. Her outfit, done entirely in crimsons and blacks, might have seemed innocently cheery to some, but Glynda recognized it as being acceptable burial clothing in several threshold nations in the East. That her accessories tended toward warped holy symbols and lurid silver flowers didn't change that impression.

Naturally, the blood trail led right to her, and Glynda approached without flinching, letting the song end before she spoke. "You've made a mess."

The singer froze. "It's alright. The floor cleans itself every hour. This place really is a marvel of First Age technology." The girl stood and straightened slowly. As she turned, it became clear where the trail was coming from. A ragged gash in the front of her outfit marked the point where she'd been run through with a sturdy blade, and blood had soaked into all of her clothing beneath that point. Even now, it dripped freely from the edge of her skirt.

Other than that, though, she was… really quite cute, by most standards. Glynda herself had never found that look to be much of a turn-on, but she knew that many mortals, exalts, and deities would be taken in by her even features, dark hair, fair skin, winning smile, and large, silver eyes.

The eyes! Ozpin had told her that they were important – somehow. As usual, the man had refused to elaborate in a most infuriating way. Glynda returned her attention to the task at hand, restraining herself from pedantically correcting the girl. While it was true that the temple boasted working defenses, indoor plumbing, continual lighting, and automatic maintenance systems far, _far_ beyond what most of modern Creation could know, and while it _was_ one of the marvels of the First Age, it was a marvel of religious expression, not technological achievement. It was actually backwards and rustic by those lofty standards.

Instead, she settled for, "That isn't what I meant. Your… _offer_ to Yu-Shan has created a significant stir. Many suspect a trick. Still more don't care, and want you dead on principle. A few more are intrigued, but didn't consider it worth the risk." The girl's smile actually widened a bit, sending a brief shiver down Goodwitch's spine, though she was certain she hadn't let it show.

If the girl picked up on it, she said nothing. "And which camp are you in?"

"Mine." The voice from the entrance was simultaneously unassuming and impossible to ignore. Glynda turned and gave the newcomer a sharp look. As she suspected, it was her boss, and the fact that he'd showed up in his usual green and silver office clothes (and his omnipresent coffee mug) meant that he hadn't even bothered concealing his identity behind a false destiny… or even a good disguise, for that matter. Ozpin was here as Ozpin.

She felt another flash of irritation. "I would have brought her to you, you know. I don't _eat_ people."

"I do!" The girl chirped, still chipper in spite of the wound. When she received a couple of impenetrable stares in response, she cleared her throat. "Not… not literally. Or the other way! Sometimes I get low on Essence, though, and…"

Ozpin glanced at Goodwitch, who gave him her best nonverbal 'this is _your_ project, nerd' look. Shaking his head for a moment and looking back at the girl, Ozpin gathered his thoughts quickly. "Just to make sure we're all on the same page, you _are_ Ruby Rose, yes?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Not anymore. I go by Red."

Ozpin blinked. He'd expected her to reject her given name, Glynda knew, but… "The Neverborn primordial masters of the Abyss that welded your soul to the corrupt essence of the Underworld named you… Red?"

" _They_ named me 'That Which is Red Like Roses.' But that's too much of a mouthful to make people say the whole thing every time, so I go by 'Red.'"

Ozpin nodded before changing the subject. "Glynda, to answer your earlier question… I came here because the situation was turbulent enough to require it. Had you returned to Yu-Shan with Miss… Red-"

" _You_ can call me whatever. Just don't expect me to answer if you use my old name to address me." Red interrupted.

"-Miss Rose, then I doubt either of you would have survived."

Goodwitch hesitated. "It's that bad?"

"Yes. However, I think I have a workaround." Ozpin finally smiled, gesturing briefly with his mug. "Red, would you mind moving this meeting… elsewhere?"

* * *

It took an incredible effort, but Jaune managed to avoid collapsing when the hunt leader _finally_ called for a halt. Barely aware of the ruins around him, he slumped against a dusty stone wall and slid to the ground, fumbling for his canteen. When he finally got a grip on it and raised it, he realized it was somehow empty.

No, not somehow – he'd drank it all on the road today. The Wyld Hunt wasn't going to slow down, not when they were this close to their quarry, and to hell with what that did to their mortal retainers. He dropped his canteen with a groan, reminded that he'd once again managed to bite off more than he could chew. It had seemed to happen to him more often these past few weeks, but what else was he supposed to do? With seven older sisters, all Exalted by the grace of the Dragons, he was expected to follow along and bring further honor to the Arc family. Unfortunately, not only was he overdue for that little status bump, but he'd managed to be an ongoing embarrassment to both his family and House Mnemon. Some of it was his fault, and some of it wasn't, but right now he was too tired to care.

The metallic noise of water sloshing about caused him to reflexively open his eyes. Standing before him was one of the heavy hitters the dragon-blooded had brought with them on this trip. She was stunning – though most of the dragon-blooded were, with a few unfortunate exceptions, a cut above mortals in terms of physical beauty – and smiled gently at him as she extended her own canteen, the offer clear.

He wanted to refuse, he really did, but he also wanted to _not die._ He took the offered drink and sucked it down greedily, coughing a bit as he finished. "Thank you, ma'am." He didn't know her name, and indeed hadn't dared to ask, not after what had happened the last time he'd gotten too familiar with one of the hunt's Exalted. That didn't stop him from looking, though, and he was surprised that he didn't remember seeing her before – the gold headpiece, red Immaculate robes, and thick scarlet ponytail seemed, well, a bit more feminine than the Realm usually allowed for its soldiers or monks. He briefly wondered what house _she_ belonged to, but was saved any additional awkwardness by the loud call to attention from the Hunt's leader.

Dutifully, the dragon blooded scions of nobility and their mortal servants gathered around. Jaune couldn't remember all of his titles, but he was Cardinal of House Cathak, of the Winchester line. His name was shortened to Cardin in casual conversation, but never to his face. Despite being an arrogant jackass and a craven bully, Jaune was forced to admit that Cardin's obsessive preparations prior to the hunt and the brutal, unrelenting pace of their pursuit had probably contributed to this particular group _actually_ finding and getting to within striking distance of one of the dreaded Anathema – something that not every Wyld Hunt achieved. He'd even managed to bribe, bully, and threaten the inhabitants of the last village they'd passed through to poison the Anathema when it had taken shelter there. Whether that would kill it was anyone's guess, but it had seemed to slow the monster down.

Everyone there took a seat or a knee, but Cardin would have towered over them regardless. Between his height, bright red-orange hair, red jade armor (a classic from his family's home in the west, similar to Jaune's, rather than the Realm-styled tatami armor popular among most of the others), and massive mace, Cardin himself cut a highly imposing figure. "Alright everyone, listen up! The Anathema has slowed considerably. Given where we are, it's pretty likely that this will be where it chooses to make its last stand. That means that this will be our last breather before we move in to engage."

He began pacing, though whether it was from nerves or excitement was difficult to determine. "Not all of you have fought the Anathema before, so I'm going to clear up a few misconceptions you might have. Anathema might look like people, but whatever they used to be, they're a force of nature now: corrupt, wicked, unholy, and _incredibly_ powerful. _Do not_ , under _any_ circumstances, attempt to engage the Anathema on your own. Despite what that moron running the Hunts to the East thinks, devotion to the Realm or to the Immaculate Faith will not grant you victory in battle. Coordination and teamwork are required to bring down these monsters." He got back to his original spot and stopped pacing, making sure he addressed everyone. "Now, this Anathema is of the _Forsaken_ Caste. That means that whatever else it can do, it definitely has combat abilities. Witnesses from the incident in Chiaroscuro mentioned a melee powerhouse, but don't rule out the possibility of some kind of ranged attack, or even preternatural strategy."

"Speaking of strategy, let's talk about ours. We're going to dispatch our scouts in a bit to locate a source of water – the existence of a ruin like this doesn't guarantee a water supply, but the odds of finding one here are better than anywhere else in this gods-awful desert. Naturally, we're also looking for our quarry. If you find it, _do not engage._ I really can't stress that enough. Once we have a fix on the creature's position, the dragon blooded will form up by brotherhood and stick to their roles. Kagada's group will stick to range, mine will move in to engage directly. Keep the Anathema surrounded and off balance. Sky, you're in the air. Use that fancy equipment to make sure it doesn't give us the slip." To one side of the group, a man in bright blue armor nodded. Unlike the rest, his gear was a relic on loan from the Realm's finest workshops. Integrated Essence gear allowed it to fly and even track other Essence signatures – by this point, it had prevented the hunt from losing the Anathema's trail twice.

"That about covers it. With this many unknowns, we can't make a much more detailed plan. We'll attack just before dawn to give that poison as much time to work as possible." Cardin nodded. "You know your jobs. Get some rest, and dismissed."

* * *

To those new to the city, Whitewall might have seemed joyless and severe. To be sure, the bright white walls that gave the city its name were rather forbidding, its placement in the North meant that it spent winters like this one frosted over, and the numerous undead and fair folk threats surrounding the city gave it a certain air of being perpetually under siege. People acted reserved in the streets, endlessly polite (even the muggers!) and the austere and sparse outside décor could leave the city feeling more like a giant snow fort than a place of business, intrigue, and messy, honest-to-goodness _life_.

Those who'd lived there for any length of time knew that was only half true. The city had strict standards for public behavior… precisely because of the surrounding threats. But like all outside threats, in a twisted way, it made the inhabitants stronger. And if the city was under siege? At least it was well equipped for it. The massive white walls provided more than a physical barrier; outsiders _could not_ get past them without permission from a citizen. Attempts to go over, under, or transdimensionally through them met with messy failure for anyone who had no business being in the city in the first place. Past that, despite the population center being rustic by the standards of the First Age, the city boasted conveniences not shared by most modern _palaces._

And the strict, hush-hush behavior of the streets and public buildings was limited to streets and public buildings. In private establishments and behind closed doors? Anything could happen.

So it was that Red found herself chatting with her new 'friends,' Glynda Goodwitch and Ozpin Too-Good-For-A-Second-Name, in the Steam Vent tavern. She wasn't sure, and had deliberately not asked, if either of the visitors got the joke behind the tavern's name: a bit of local color concerning the steam alcoves that funneled heat up from the subterranean hot springs… and what usually went on inside them. Either way, it was the most _pleasant_ interrogation she'd ever participated in.

It had helped that she'd managed to get the bleeding under control after leaving the consecrated area at the city center. She'd recover quickly regardless, but not dripping all over the host's floor was definitely a plus. The offer of food was also a friendly one, she was sure, even if it wasn't doing much for her. She sincerely doubted they'd offer her the kind of snack she actually needed.

They _were_ prying, but despite herself Red had taken an immediate liking to Ozpin. He had a habit of dodging pointed questions, true, but he did so in both directions. The man seemed to already understand what she was and wasn't willing to talk about and shaped his efforts accordingly, avoiding a tremendous waste of time.

Ozpin looked at her over his ever-steaming mug of… Red wasn't sure what. He wouldn't have been able to refill it with coffee here. Another question she'd never get answered. "You realize that your part in my plan carries incredible risks."

"That's a ridiculous understatement," Goodwitch interjected, "we're some of the most educated people in the universe, Red, and even we don't have words to adequately describe what the Deathlords will do to you if you fail."

Red nodded. "I'm aware."

Goodwitch wasn't done. "And that's just the personal cost. Even success will mean hurting your sister, what few friends you might be able to pick up on the way, Creation at large, the realms beyond Creation, and literally all hope for the future, albeit to relatively smaller degrees."

"Destruction is all I can do, other than die." Red shrugged and munched on one of the cookies provided – she figured that if she wasn't going to draw nourishment from the food, she might as well indulge her sweet tooth. "So _my_ plan is to be creative about it. Building things is your job."

The pair looked at each other again, before Ozpin leaned closer. "We have some information that leads us to believe that becoming a deathknight is a… choice. Might I ask what caused you to make that decision?"

Red grinned impishly, "Well, the other option was _dying_ , for one thing." When neither of her conversational partners shared in the joke, she sobered. Red gazed down at the table without really seeing it. "You don't get a lot of time to think about it. I can only name one deathknight who wanted to be one as a mortal, and she's crazy. When the time came for me to decide, I gave it as much thought as I could and… I had a promise to keep. An important one." She looked up. "The rest is personal."

Ozpin leaned back. For an instant – less than an instant, really – Red caught something in his eyes, some echo of familiarity. Then the tiny window of insight slammed shut. "I see. By any chance, did you see your mother in the Underworld?"

Red gave him an innocent grin, the kind she normally wore right before unfolding Crescent Rose. "Yeah, she's still around."

"Very well." He stood brusquely, motioning for Goodwitch to do the same. "I will send you what assistance I can, though I doubt that will be enough. You should seek out additional allies. The Faerie Courts might be willing to aid you, for a price, but there are more rogue Celestial Exalted than at any other point in recent history. When you go looking for help, I would start with them."

"I don't suppose you have any references?" Red stood too, gesturing to the bloody rent in her outfit. "Solars and Lunars tend to either die or be good at hiding, and I'm not exactly popular around here."

Ozpin hesitated in the act of turning away. "As a matter of fact, if you're willing to do some traveling, I can point you to one in particular. But before I do, I want to leave you with one question, and I don't expect an answer right away."

Red paused. "Go for it."

"Whenever someone sets out to do something, even if they do it perfectly, there's a cost. A loss of resources, whether it's time, money, or Essence. The cost isn't always measurable, though. It can be a relationship, a personal principle, a reputation, even a concept. We make thousands of such decisions every day, but for something big, the most important question to ask – the one you must _keep_ asking, even up to the end – is simply, "What is it worth?"

"You think this is a bad idea?"

"I think you might not have given it enough thought." Ozpin's intense stare finally eased up, and a mischievous grin finally lit up his features, making him look young in spite of his grey hair. "In the meantime, though, that Exalt I mentioned…"

* * *

Jaune swallowed, throat still parched from earlier. At least fixing _that_ wouldn't be a problem. He'd done as he was supposed to, and he'd even managed to find the water source Cardin had been looking for.

But someone else had found it first.

He couldn't see much of the figure kneeling at the edge of the fountain, and the hooded, ragged tan cloak hid pretty much all possible means of identification - not that it mattered. Mere mortal he might be, but Jaune wasn't outright stupid. Putting two and two together, anyone this far out in the middle of nowhere, this deep into purportedly haunted ruins, had to either be part of Cardin's team, or their prey.

Now he had a choice to make. He could return to the dragon's chosen as quietly as he possibly could and let them have the location. That was what his orders said, and while Cardin was a massive prick, that really was the safe and smart option. _I could do that. I *should* do that. Or…_

Or he could seize the element of surprise, rush the Anathema, and take it out. Somehow, it hadn't noticed him yet; maybe he could pull it off. Maybe then the dragons would favor him. If not that, then at least he would either finally give his family a reason to be proud of him... or die and not have to disgrace them any further. After just a moment of introspection, he knew which one he was going to pick. It was the Arc family's unofficial motto: You can run from a lost battle, but there's no escape from a lost opportunity.

Jaune took a deep breath, and then several more. He set his stance, his blade, and his shield of White Jade. He wasn't attuned to it; only the Exalted could do that, but it would stand up to more punishment than even the most finely crafted steel. Then he made his move.

He was fortunate. The sand and dust in the area masked the sound of his footsteps, and his lighter armor, equipped with the punishing desert in mind, didn't clack or clang like his normal suit would. He drew his blade back silently, aiming for a clean cut. While the Anathema might be horrible, demon-possessed monsters cursed by the Dragons, he didn't see much point in making this one suffer. Three steps, two, one; he had this… he _had this…_

Jaune's blade sang through the air as he whipped it around in the most perfect strike of his short career. The figure by the lake still hadn't moved as the masterwork steel closed the distance. Then there was a blur, or maybe a shadow of a blur, and suddenly the figure's wrist was in the way. The sword met it and _bounced_ , wobbling and vibrating from the force of the impact and numbing Jaune's arm.

Eyes wide, he staggered back a step. A bit of the figure's cloak had fallen away from her hand, revealing a woman's trim, well-muscled arm with a golden band around it. The Anathema stood and turned, drawing the hood of the cloak back and letting an enormous cascade of bright golden hair spill down her back. Jaune felt his breath catch; she was literally radiant in her beauty, and he coughed as a pair of amethyst eyes bored into his.

Then her mouth quirked into a lopsided smirk and the spell was broken. "That was pretty gutsy." It took Jaune a moment to realize that she was talking to him, especially as she wasn't done. "You're not one of the dragon-blooded, are you?"

"I… ah… no," Jaune sputtered. "No ma'am."

"Figured. No Charms, nothing's frozen or on fire. You wouldn't happen to be the one that poisoned me a while back, would you?"

"I… what? No. No, that wasn't-"

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine." The woman - _Anathema_ , Jaune reminded himself - scratched at her head idly for a moment. "So, out of curiosity, after you killed me, what were you planning to do next?"

Jaune chuckled, despite himself. The question was so ludicrous that it just struck him as funny. "Bask in the glory of a successful hunt, feel great about one-upping Cathak Winchester Cardinal, and maybe get my sisters off my back for two weeks?"

"Oooh, yeah, I can see that. These hunts are tough on mortals, aren't they?"

"You have no idea."

The Anathema just stared at him until he chuckled again - nervously, this time. "Ahaha... although, I guess it's even worse if you're the one the Wyld Hunt is trying to kill…"

"A little bit." The smirk returned. "But you know what? Killing me is clearly okay with everyone around here, so your fame and fortune are _probably_ the most important things that we should be talking about. Now, you seem like a nice guy, so I'm going to give you one more chance. I won't block this time." She brushed her hair to one side and pulled on the collar of her cloak, clearly exposing her neck. "So take your best shot."

Jaune blinked. "Um… are you sure about this?"

"Yep! After all, I'm a horrible monster, right? Yang Xiao Long, the Dragon of the False Sun, Forsaken Anathema." Her voice started sweet, but turned bitter as she went on. "I devastated that slaver enclave for no reason, and now all the poor slavers are out of a job. I blew up several Guild ships back in Nexus and drug traffic profits have been down ever since. And I've just been _so_ uncooperative with the Wyld Hunt up to this point. Here's your big chance to make everything right, kiddo."

The realization hit him like a tyrant lizard. Cardin had warned them about combat abilities, but the Anathema were known to have all _kinds_ of strange powers, powers his sisters had described to him when they'd had a few too many drinks at family parties. She could easily be messing with his head. "Don't _do_ that!" Jaune drew himself up to his full height, pleased to note that he was, if nothing else, just barely taller than Yang - _Anathema, dammit!_ "I know what you're doing, and I know what you are. The Arcs _do not falter!_ " He drew back his sword and swung for the second time that night, his aim no worse than before.

Yang kept to her word - she did not intercept the weapon this time. The sword, a beautiful masterwork passed down the family for generations, struck her directly in the throat - and snapped like a dry twig. The blonde smiled again and Jaune felt his blood run cold. He tried to say something, but she beat him to it. "There's a reason the Wyld Hunt operates as a team." She began to advance on him, and Jaune found himself subconsciously retreating at the same pace. "There's a reason why not every Wyld Hunt ends successfully. And there's _definitely_ a reason why the dragon-blooded take point when they do catch one of us." There was another blur that Jaune didn't quite process, but when he regained his wits, he was several dozen feet away from where he started and everything felt strange and numb. He spat out a sticky, wet wad of dust and blood, realizing that he was face down on the ground with no associated memory of how he got there.

Groaning, he rolled to one side and tried to get up. He managed to lurch to a standing position before the pain really hit him; he fell to his knees and vomited all over the ancient ruins. Officially loopy by that point, the errant question of whether or not that counted as some kind of sacrilege drifted through his consciousness before he regained partial control of his guts. With some effort and a number of deliberately shallow breaths, he was able to tilt his head back far enough to try to find his opponent again.

He didn't have to look for long. Yang was still standing where he'd last seen her, the only real difference in her features being the faint golden shimmer of a circle on her forehead, with lines radiating out to complete the icon. It was the caste mark of the Forsaken, he dimly recalled, and his sisters had said it would glow brighter the more of her power she used.

Jaune got as far as wondering why he wasn't dead yet when he realized that someone else had joined them. The red-haired dragon-blooded from before, the nice one with the golden head piece, had found them. His heart soared for a moment before doubt crept in. Yang had seemed to think that she could defeat any single dragon-blooded. Did the red haired lady know? He tried to gurgle a warning, but all he got was another dry heave and a wave of pain. _I guess I can't… do_ anything _right…_

* * *

Pyrrha kept herself from crying out – mostly in frustration – as Jaune intercepted Yang's flurry of attacks with his face and torso. She _knew_ the Solar had pulled her punches; indeed, the fact that all of Jaune's limbs were still attached to his body was proof that the Dawn Caste had held back to a tremendous degree.

That didn't make the rest of her job any easier, though. Actually, her timing on this was going to have to be absolutely flawless if she was going to meet _all_ of her mission goals. She… might have allowed Jaune and the Wyld Hunt to assume that she was among the Chosen of Dragons. In their defense, she could certainly play the part. Graceful, powerful, well educated, and with a mastery of the Fire Dragon Style, one of the most difficult of the Immaculate Martial Arts, Pyrrha could pass for a lower-coil Immaculate monk relatively easily.

The reality was _considerably_ more complicated. It always was. The truth was that she didn't much care about Cardin's hunt save as a vessel to get her to this point, here, now, in this ruin. Her one regret was that it had taken this long to get away from everyone else in the Hunt _and_ close to Yang at the same time. Not that she'd had a lot of choice – she didn't know who, or how, but someone in the Celestial Bureaucracy had managed to get this mission assigned to her just a _little_ too late to make it anything short of a nightmarish challenge.

That was the whole point, really: it was a maneuver designed to disgrace and embarrass her when she failed, and the beauty of it was that the time crunch also prevented her from investigating or retaliating. On the other hand, if she _could_ pull it off, that would guarantee a spectacular backfire for whoever had taken a shot at her, in more ways than one.

Which might be difficult. Yang was staring right at her, and she'd seen warstriders with happier facial expressions. "So we're getting this party started, huh?" She threw off her cloak to reveal that she'd dressed in layers, like most of the South. The slightly abbreviated clothing, done in browns and yellows, would have fit in anywhere in the East or Southeast, but she'd thrown a ragged brown poncho over it for protection from the sun, albeit one that ended higher up than normal and came to a point front and back instead of hanging squarely. A simple lavender and gold diamond pattern in a line across the front was its only decoration. She was also wearing heavy, knee-high boots more appropriate to the Scavenger Lands than the deep Southern deserts – a testament to how far she'd had to flee. Finally, a long scarf that had probably started bright orange and clean cut but now sported tatters and burn marks added some final drama to the ensemble.

These details Pyrrha catalogued in case she had to track Yang down later; right now, she had to convince the Solar to listen to her. "Alright, Yang? I need you to listen to me. There's still a way for you to get out of this alive."

Yang let out a short bark of laughter. "I know. I was trying to avoid a wholesale slaughter, but you guys have been kinda insistent."

"What- no! Not that. I mean there's a way for you to escape. Give the Wyld Hunt the slip for good. I'm not actually part of the Wyld Hunt. You just have to trust me-"

"No."

"Yang, it doesn't have to be this way-"

"What, we'll kiss and make up?" The Solar snorted before her face lost all trace of humor. "I'm… I'm real tired of running, lady. I can _feel_ the poison now. I want to go down swinging, not whimpering out on the dunes, too weak to move. That doesn't mean I'm going to walk into whatever half-assed trap you two are the bait for." She pounded her fists together, a brief flash of golden light appearing. "You can throw your life away, but I'll get what I want, so don't bother," she shot forward, her fist blazing with Essence fire, screaming, " _and just watch me burn!"_

Pyrrha started to dodge, still not drawing her weapons and fighting the urge to swear. Her timing had been off, and now Yang was too paranoid and desperate to listen to her. Now she had to play tag with the furious Solar until the blonde bought her story that she wasn't an enemy. Actions spoke louder than words, after all, and if she could get Yang to let her finish a sentence, she could clear this up. Even in the split second of Yang's charge, she did the necessary calculation, tweaked the strands of Fate so that she wouldn't be struck by the Solar's attack… and then something was in the way.

Jaune. She'd failed to account for the nearby mortal twice now. He'd agitated Yang before Pyrrha had made her move, and now he was about to get his skeleton turned to paste on her behalf unless she did something to prevent it. She tapped into her own reserve of Essence again, seeking to change _his_ Fate before his life ended.

She never got the chance.

* * *

Jaune recovered enough of his wits to see the red-headed dragon blooded from earlier and the Anathema talking, though he couldn't quite make out what they were saying through the ringing in his ears. Then he saw the blonde's face take on the same look it had right before she'd pummeled him nearly senseless. For whatever reason, the nice dragon-blooded hadn't noticed, hadn't made a move to defend herself.

He couldn't let her get taken down the same way. Cardin's crew was still nowhere to be found. They might not even be aware that this was happening. There was no way both of them could survive this. The dragon-blooded, though… _she_ might survive long enough to flee, to reunite with the Hunt, if he took the first hit for her.

Jaune looked down. The ancestral shield was still with him. Good. He lurched to his feet right as the Anathema started screaming. He found himself staggering at first, then gaining momentum. He hurled himself sideways, seeking to interpose his shield between the dragon-blooded and the Solar before Yang reached her mark. The young man braced himself and shut his eyes in anticipation of the pain.

Nothing happened.

It hadn't been a letdown, a sudden save from Cardin's team, or even a twist of fortune that somehow caused Yang to miss. Things literally just stopped happening. It took a moment of subjective time for Jaune to even realize that he was staring at his own body, still sailing sideways through the air as Yang came barreling towards…

He took another look at the dragon-blooded. Something wasn't right – he could see her, of course, but he could also see… _Through her? Into her? Around her?_ It was a truly bizarre sensation. The best way he finally found to process it was that it was one woman wearing another woman like clothing, but not in a morbid, serial-killer sort of way. The 'wearing' was metaphorical, the second woman now obviously fake and constructed out of the same little strands that seemed to stretch from her in every direction. The fake woman was a perfect match for his memory of the dragon-blooded who had helped him. The real one looked less weather-worn, more pale than the ruddy fire aspect he recalled. The look of total certainty and the tiny hint of arrogance was gone, too. If anything, it made her even prettier.

When he looked into her green eyes, he could have sworn he saw little red stars twinkling in there.

 **"SHE WILL ENDURE THIS NIGHT."**

If it were even remotely possible, Jaune was certain he would have jumped out of his skin a second time. Instead, he whirled to face the speaker and saw the absolute last thing he expected. A massive man, glowing gold, crossed _four_ arms and nodded gravely at him, apparently being the only person immune to the frozen time all around them. Jaune made a herculean effort and found his voice. "Ah… hi?"

 **"WELL MET."**

"Who… are you? If I might ask?"

 **"ASK YOURSELF. YOU WILL FIND THAT YOU ALREADY KNOW."**

Jaune's face scrunched up in confusion before clearing. He _did_ know, but couldn't think of how. "You're… first among the Incarnae. _The_ Unconquered Sun."

* * *

 **Author Notes:**

 _Whew! I didn't originally plan to have the prologue split in half, but this was a good stopping place and it was plenty long enough already. I am more than happy to get comments and reviews, even negative ones if you find something to criticize about my actual writing._

 _For anyone new to Exalted, you may be admittedly a little bamboozled at this point, but you've probably picked up on a few key details:_

 _1) Solars are extremely powerful._  
 _2) Deathknights are not particularly well regarded._  
 _3) The Wyld Hunts and the Dragon-Blooded who run them hate 'Anathema' - a group that includes Solars - with a passion._  
 _4) Being a mortal in Creation kinda sucks._

 _There's much more to it than that, of course, and those who do know Exalted have probably worked out quite a bit more of what's going on and what some of these characters are. I'll have more detailed notes when a few more of the characters have been introduced. For now, here's the cast so far:_

 **Character Name, Titles - Type of Being (Details)**

That Which is Red Like Roses (Mortal Name: Ruby Rose) - Abyssal Exalted (Caste Unknown)  
Yang Xiao Long, The Sun Dragon - Solar Exalted (Dawn Caste)  
Jaune Arc (Dynastic Name: Mnemon Arc Jaune) - Mortal (Human)  
Pyrrha Nikos, The Invincible Girl - ? Exalted (Caste Unknown)  
Glynda Goodwitch - ?  
Ozpin - ?  
Team CRDL - Dragon Blooded (Fire/Wood/Earth/Air Aspects)


End file.
